Don't Break My Heart
by Ian D UK
Summary: Early 90's Prequel. Rayna is now a Country star and must juggle the demands of her record company, family and lead guitarist.
1. Chapter 1

Don't Break My Heart

_A/N Set in the early 90's, this prequel is a follows Three Steps, but will be a standalone story. I wanted to gain an idea of Deacon's opinion towards Billy Ray Cyrus, and once there didn't reveal that he himself would win a CMA for co-writing This Time in the following century. Thanks for stopping by to read._

Morning sunlight, slightly diffused by frayed curtains hit on the face of Rayner Jaymes.

"You awake Deac?" she asked croakily.

"Am now."

She snuggled into the curve of his body, enjoying the warmth and feel of his skin.

"Will you be wanting breakfast any time soon?" he asked.

"Just a glass of water." Her mouth was parched and ridged, a victim of last night's liquor, which had lead to… Deacon leaned over to the bedside table, leaned over the naked, silk smooth body of the young country music starlet and turned on the radio.

"Tell your Aunt Louise, tell anything you please…" the music abruptly cut. Rayner giggled.

"Honest to God, you really hate that song."

"Damn right I do. It's awful, has absolutely no feeling, the melody is childish and the guy has a mullet that looks worse than Luke Wheeler's."

"And I bet you'll be humming it all day long."

"You know what," said Deacon as he climbed out of bed, "that's what I hate most about it."

Deacon's cooking stretched to eggs, orange juice and black coffee. There was no milk, no fruit and no change of clean clothes for Rayna. He idly tracked the skin tight jeans as she put the crockery away.

"Any plans today?"

"Back to the house, get a few things sorted, lunch with Tandy at her new apartment, then catch up with Bucky."

"Mmmn." Deacon over exaggerated stifling a yawn. "Or you could just stay here with me."

"I could… but I won't. There's a lot going on right now and that Edgehill contract extension won't sign itself."

"Which is why you have a manager, one you were oh so keen to promote up."

She sighed, he really didn't get this. Maybe that was why Deacon Clayborn was the monumentally talented but hired gun guitar picker, and she the diligent, conscientious performer. "We've been through this before. I 've a 5 album deal and my and 3rd and 4th have gone multi-platinum . I have to strike now, while hot."

"You're always hot to me darlin'." She ignored him.

"I am simply not letting this industry screw… push me around and make all the decisions, about my direction, or my music for me. Bucky understands that, but we work as a team. Anyway what about your plans? If you are calling today Beverly to check up, send her my love, she must be about to pop."

"Well if you say so, then I supposed I must."

"Has she decided on a name yet?"

"Scarlet or Clark. Not even my sister would lumber a boy with the name Rhett."

"Hmmm, Clark O'Conner. It's got a ring to it. Sounds like an outlaw guitar playing smoothie, like his uncle." On her way to the door Rayner dodged the cushion thrown at her. She got into her car and the radio crackled into life. This station was also playing "Achey Breaky Heart" by Billy Ray Cyrus. Rayner blew a kiss from the open window and drove off singing along.

Rayner buzzed apartment 23, on the brushed steel panel, set into the smart brick wall of the brand new block, sitting on one of the most up and coming, trendy streets in central Nashville.

"Hello."

"Guess Who?"

"Sis! Come on up, sixth floor, Elevators on the left."

She stepped out, walked down an immaculate, minimalist landing and to Tandy's front door.

"Well look at this," she trilled, putting a bottle of wine and bunch of roses on the kitchen counter. "So you're finally out from under Daddy's feet. How can he cope?"

"Oh you know Daddy, It will be all night meetings and high stake poker games from now on."

They hugged and Rayner took a step back to appraise her older sibling. Tandy certainly looked more relaxed and while she was never going to break the close bond she had with Lamar, the breathing space was doing her good. Tandy clattered around the kitchen area fixing lunch, which mainly involved pouring pre packed salad onto plates, unwrapping pre-sliced ham and filling two glasses with chilled white. Rayner suspected that the gleaming kitchen equipment would see little use. Business always came first for Daddy's girl.

Rayner sat on the couch and from her handbag pulled out the unopened mail she'd picked up at her rented pad. One marked Edgehill Republic had fortuitously arrived by bike, during her brief stop-over. She opened that first and let out a low whistle

"Everything OK?" Tandy asked.

"Er, yes. It's a royalty cheque." She handed it to her sister.

"Oh my, that is a lot of zeros."

"I know, it's kind of embarrassing."

"Don't be stupid. You've earned every cent, and the IRS will certainly want their cut. Actually if you need any advice on that I'm sure Daddy would…"

"Oh no." Rayner replied, "Daddy and I meet for birthdays, Thanks Giving and Christmas, and as long as we don't talk about business or country music, it works. I'd like to keep it that way."

"I understand. Maybe I can help. You're making some serious money Sis and it should be put to work. What about following my lead and getting into property. It's crazy you're still renting."

"I don't know, I've worked my ass off, but there is never time to put down roots. I'm not sure I even want to."

"Deacon's bought a place, even if it is on the wrong side of town."

Rayner laughed, "He likes it there, says he feel's comfortable."

"So, he traded location for square footage, I can appreciate that. But you don't have to Rayner. You could buy the penthouse of this block outright with that cheque."

Rainer flinched, while she enjoyed the expensive clothes, accessories and manicures that came with the country territory, she also enjoyed shedding the glamour and simply relaxing. "Can you really see me queening it in a penthouse?"

"Well it's not like Deacon's going to invite you to shack up permanently anytime soon." The shiver was more pronounced this time. Rayner averted her gaze. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that." But both women knew it to be the truth. Despite ample opportunity Rayner's boyfriend had made no move towards commitment and responsibility.

"Anyway, what do you know about this penthouse?" Rayner asked, taking a gulp of chardonnay.

"That it's still held by the developers, they are using it to put clients up."

"Quite the Colombo aren't you?"

"Well one of the guys bought two doors down from me, off plan."

"I bet he never paid full price!"

"Of course not, he's not stupid about money. Unlike some I could mention. Apparently he's the youngest person ever to make his grade in the Company's history."

"Full of himself then."

"Actually no, confident would more accurate. If you met him you'd understand. His name is Teddy Conrad."

They finished eating and did the tour of Tandy's apartment, Rayner impressed by the walk in wardrobe, less so by the technicalities of the heating system. Before leaving Tandy made a suggestion.

"I'm having a welcome party next Saturday, can you make it? And Deacon if he wants to."

"Sure."

"Great, nothing fancy, just bring a bottle and that flash smile of yours, I may want to show off my super-star sister. You can meet Teddy and take a quick peak at that penthouse."

"Tandy!"

"I'm serious, it's silly not to and you never know you just may like it, and Teddy."  
"Alright then, you win, as always."

Rayner put her stuff down in the nondescript hallway of her own place, picked up the phone and rung Bucky's home number. "How did it go with Edgehill?"

"Pretty good, they have agreed to all the contract changes we requested."  
"That's wonderful."

"Just one thing, they are insisting your next album is produced by Chris Noon."

"What, Chris Noon who..."

"Has produced 2 platinum selling albums in the last quarter." Bucky finished for her.

"That man knows nothing about the heritage of country. Besides, my last album went double platinum."

"Yes, though it took twice as long to get there and spent half as much time at number 1 than the one before." Her manager responded.

"Buck, you're supposed to be on my side." Rayner could feel her morning's defiant words to Deacon melt in front of her very eyes.

"I am Rayna, honest. Chris Noon wouldn't be my choice for you, but he is hot stuff and the label are under pressure to keep momentum going."

"So what do we do?"

"As your manager I'd advise you to take what is a good deal. As your friend I think you should roll with this, see if this man can teach you anything new, then come back stronger with the next album."

After getting off the phone Rayner poured herself a cold fruit juice and slouched down on the beige couch in the magnolia sitting room. Johnny Cash's Sun period played from the smart black CD player as she wondered how things had ever become so complicated.

If Deacon had ever considered the concept of a comfort zone then he would have been feeling a long way out of it. Corporate suits was never his thing and Tandy's party was full of them, even if most had ditched the actual suit for designer smart casual. Deacon's concession to smartness had been to wear a pair of _black_ Levis and a freshly ironed shirt. Ironed by Rayner, who he had to admit looked stunning in a dark red cocktail dress and killer heels. The two had become separated when Tandy pulled her trophy sister away to meet someone and Deacon had found himself wedged against the refrigerator, half listening to a conversation about NASACR which was at least more intelligible than the ins and outs of commercial tax laws. He couldn't even take refuge in his beer bottle, for fear of, fear of the shame of letting Rayner down. Looking over the shoulder of the man in front of him he spotted the back of Rayners head, her curls cascading onto pale skin, stray strands meeting the silky material of the dress. A young man was talking earnestly to her and Deacon could picture the friendly, but fake smile that would be adorning her face. The one usually reserved for journalists, media hosts and label executives. As it turned out he was wrong.

"So what is it you do?" NASCAR man asked Deacon.

"Me, oh I'm a guitar player." Deacon responded, hoping it didn't make him out to be some sort of freeloading drop out.

"Really? That must be exciting in this town."

"It can be. But it also means a hell of a lot of waiting for the right moment to come along."

As much as she always hated admitting Tandy was right Rayner Jaymes found herself grateful for the intervention of Teddy Conrad. Roughly half the people at the party knew who she was and had wanted autographs and fan chats, the rest had no interest in her whatsoever. When Tandy had made the introduction of "Rayner, my famous little sister who's looking to invest in real estate." Teddy had been gracious, he was after all a salesman and good salesmen made no judgments on where the money came from. The apartment was stifling her and she happily followed Teddy out onto the corridor and then the elevator. From the small bunch of keys in his hand he inserted one into the elevator panel, which automatically took them to the exclusive top floor.

"You know," he said as they headed upwards, "I'm afraid I don't actually have any of your records."

Rayna twinkled. "That's alright, it's not compulsory to live in Nashville and adore country music. Though it should be."

The doors slid open and Teddy lead the way to the smoked glass entrance door. Once inside Rayner looked around at the vast expanse of wooden flooring, the open plan granite kitchen area, plush, fine leather sofas and state of the art entertainment equipment. "Well here we are," said Teddy "Large triple aspect living accommodation, there are 3 bedrooms to your right, the master with its own en-suit and a further family bathroom. Balconies on two sides, the property comes with 2 reserved spaces in the secure basement parking lot, all the white goods and electrical equipment are also included and I am sure we could come to an arrangement over the other furnishings if you so wished." Rayner was for once lost for words. She moved around the space, her heels clacking on the hard floor, before placing a hand gingerly on one of the dark wood dining chairs by a full length picture window. All that luxury and she could own it from that piece of paper that had sat in her bag for half a day.

"It's amazing." She said softy.

Teddy looked into her eyes, "But you don't like it?"

"I think it's a wonderful design and everything, but it's just not me."

He showed her the marbled bathroom and bedrooms with thick, fluffy carpet, king size bed and Egyptian cotton sheets. "You could make one of these into a music room?"

She laughed. "You're still trying to convince me. This apartment, it's like the most incredible hotel room I've ever known, but I see too many hotel rooms when I'm on the road."

"Come and look at this." He was standing by the large, un-blinded window, part of the city was laid out below them in the evening dusk. He pointed, "What do you see there, to the left of the Fire Depot."

"A hole in the ground where a bowling alley and movie theatre place used to be?"

"That is prime mixed retail and residential development and we are seeking partners to fulfil its true potential. I know I really can't sell you this place. But I would advise you to think about investing in something like Jackson Street, letting us do the hard work and you taking your share of the profits."

"You mean like Daddy?"

This time Teddy grinned, "Well you father is certainly a robust businessman. But I think this scheme is a bit small scale for Wyatt Industries. Which is why I think it would be perfect for you. Invest some of your money in that and I can also put some feelers out to my contacts, see if there is anything on the property market that would suit you more. A bit more homely maybe?"

"I don't know, I've never thought about investments like that before."

"Obviously you should never make a decision that quickly. Let me send your people some literature, and you let me know what you think."

After handing over Bucky's details Rayner retuned to the thinning out party.

"Wow, you two were gone some while." Tandy smirked. "When are you moving in?"  
"I'm not! But it was interesting. I mean he could have been really pushy, but he wasn't." and Rayna explained about Jackson Street.

"See! Perhaps one day you will learn to trust you older, wiser and nearly as beautiful sister."

"Hmm, perhaps. Where's Deacon?"

"Oh he left when the cold beer ran out. Not good at networking that one. Said he see you for rehearsal tomorrow, downtown."

Shit, she'd let him down "Was he OK?"  
"Oh Deacon's always Deacon, never happy without the weight of the world to bear." Rayna breathed with relief, at least he hadn't done anything stupid. Tandy knew that Deacon enjoyed a drink, just not what that sometimes lead to and Rayner knew she had to keep the excesses of her lover secret from the disapproval of her sister.


	2. Chapter 2

Don't Break My Heart – 2

_A/N In the spirit of crossover, Kinky Friedman is a real life former country artist who later turned to novel writing. Words attributed to him here are based on my interpretations of the fictionalised account of himself from his own novels. Chris Noon is a completely fictional plot device. Thanks for clicking through._

Rayna completed the chorus and stepped back from her microphone as Deacon's solo sprung from his fret board. From inside the vocal booth she exchanged smiles with the bass player and closed her eyes. It was early afternoon in sunny Tennessee, but indoors, the darkened studio was a world unto itself. A month on from signing her new contract and agreeing to the label's choice of producer, album sessions were in full swing.

"And cut it there." A voice from the Gods broke the mood. She looked up at the control room, and the impenetrable mirror sunglasses of Chris Noon.

"Awe c'on Man!" cried Deacon, skidding out of his solo. "What was wrong with that one?"

His answer was amplified around the room and echoed inside her cans. "Absolutely nothing Mr Claybourne, but I only needed the second verse and the first 6 bars of your solo to fly into take 4. We can then overdub a 2nd bass part later."

"Excuse me for being a lowly guitar picker," rasped Deacon, his voice as iced as the coke on the stool by his amp, "but I was under the impression we were making a record here, not undertaking a jigsaw puzzle."

The producer swivelled in his chair and Rayna could now see the long ponytail, scrunched at the nape of his neck. "It's nothing personal. Mr Claybourne". She joined the other musicians on the main studio floor.

"Well your damn right about that. There will be no personality to this song what-so-ever if you keep hacking it like firewood." Deacon took a long swig.

"Easy hun." Rayna said deliberately, "It's getting hot in here."

He turned to her, the tell-tale look of wildness in his glint.

"Were you drinking at lunch Deacon?"

Cursing, the half-hearted peppermint mask on his breath told her before he did. "Yes! Two, if you really want to know. Trouble is," and Deacon's voice broke with his own mirth, "those kind boys keep topping me up before I reached the end. You know? That 2nd glass probably had more added to it than one of Mr. Production-perfect's masters. "

The control room voice was terse. "I am simply here doing the job I am paid to do. I would be grateful if you were able to do the same."

"But you won't let me play my solo in one take, and it's so easy. Watch!" Deacon attacked his guitar, too fast and from too sharp an angle. The plectrum spun out of his hand and one finger cut on the metal string. Deacon pulled his hand to his mouth. "Now look what you made me do."

"You are making my point for me perfectly." The producer's voice was cool, detached, his shoulders relaxed. If Rayna ever tried to argue with Deacon she became be a swirl of arms and shrugs. "As I said we have enough material for the song now. So Miss Jaymes, can we please try a vocal take of 'Blue Afternoons' just you against the best basic rhythm track? Mr Claybourne can take five. His part can wait until he is a little more, ahum, engaged."

Rayna, feeling Bucky on her left shoulder dithered between making a stand and acquiescence, long enough for Deacon to butt in again.

"You haven't a clue about this pal have you? She needs my slide to bounce her voice off. That's how I wrote it, that's how it works."

"I know exactly what I am doing, and what my singer is capable of."

Deacon's lips tightened again, a motion Rayna knew only too well, these last few days of recording sessions.

"But this is my song."

"And my _record,_ Mr Clayborne."

"Then screw you asshole." Deacon picked up the glass and Rayna could almost see sedimentary whiskey falling to the bottom through the cola, in slow motion she watched the arc of his strumming arm as he threw it up and across the studio where it hit the control room window and crashed down. Slivers of glass twinkled in the dark brown stain spreading over the wooden floor.

"I'm driving you home and that's final." Rayna spat the words out in the parking lot, but from the moment he had made to leave, pushing sullenly passed a leggy 19 year old assistant under orders to clean up, the fight had gone out of her guitar player. The journey passed in total silence, she had a million things she wanted to tell him, but only one she knew she must; and she struggled to find the right words to express that. Like one of his best lyrics he opened the way for her when she pulled up at his.

"I'm so sorry babe, guess I'm just tired of performing like a pony. Let me sleep and we'll crack this tomorrow. Dr fancy pants might even grow some humanity overnight."

It was going to have to be now. Close confined in the car, with no back up. She tried to look at him but couldn't meet those eyes. "We both know that won't work. This whole album is just not going to be your style. So I think you'd better… sit this one out." There was no air left in her lungs.

"Are you firing me Rayna Jaymes?"

Ignited by unfairness and a whiff of self-guilt Rayna raised her head. "No. I'm saying this record is never going to happen with you and Chris at each other throats."

"So it's him or me and you've chosen him."

"It was the label who chose him, you know that. Listen, if money is going to be a problem…"

"Good God. You're sounding like Tandy now. Thinking that throwing enough dollars around will solve everything. No, I do not want to be on a retainer, a Ray-tainer. There are other people in this city who will gladly take me and my music." At some point he must have stopped shouting, slammed the car door and stomped into his house. At some point the weather had broken and rain had spattered onto the car roof. Rayna was only fully aware of all this when she realised she would need to turn on the wipers on before driving away.

Back at her home there were 3 answerphone messages from Bucky, culminating in a 2nd hand threat from the Chris Noon that Rayna would have to decide between her producer and lead musician. Bucky tactfully implied it was her call but reminded her of the investment Edgehill had made in Noon. She rung Bucky back feeling like she was stuck between two squabbling kids from the 7th grade.

"How did he take it?" Bucky asked mildly when she told him the deed was already done.

"How do you think? Not well, but I had no real choice. Now we need a short term guitar player and a new lead single. I'm not doing 'Blue Afternoons' without Deacon."

"Of course not. You can tell Chris that in the morning. He called me yet again, just before you did, demanding a breakfast meeting at his house."

"Sure." Rayna was idly flicking through the local paper as she talked. "Can you fix me another meeting tomorrow too?"

"I'll do my best, who with, Edgehill?"

Rayna circled an article in red felt tip. "No an author doing a book signing in town. I've just had an idea."

Rayna cradled the phone, looked at it for a moment and checked her slim diamond studded watch. Five to six, he was bound to still be working. She dialled.

"Mr Conrad? It's Rayna Jaymes… Yes I'm good thank you. I'm calling you about Jackson Street, you may count me in."

Just like Rayna, Chris Noon was currently in rented accommodation, and while Edgehill Republic were funding both properties, the difference was that Noon's bills were paid directly by the label and his 1 bed apartment was about as centrally located as it was possible to get. Shiny, practical and cold thought Rayna, as she stepped out of the bathroom. Just the sort of potential to get Teddy Conrad's juices flowing. However Chris had made an effort for her. There was freshly brewed, pungent coffee and warm, shop brought bagels. He had even taken off his shades, revealing eyes of sea washed bluey green.

"About- I'm so – yesterday – sorry."

They both stopped talking over each other. "You first." Chris said.

"What happened yesterday was totally unprofessional. I want to apologise for it and let you know that Deacon has agreed to step out of this project, for the sake of the record."

"You personally have nothing to apologise for Miss, er, Rayna." He coughed. "I'm sorry, I like to keep things formal in the studio, but you're my guest here and I hope first names are acceptable?"

"Of course Chris. You know I'm on something of a journey with this record and I have to be totally committed to what we can do together."

"Me too. What you see is what you get with me. I have my methodology and if Edgehill had wanted a Daniel Lanois type record, well then they should have hired Daniel Lanois."

"It's just that I've never made a whole album without Deacon before." She said softy and bit into cream cheese bagel.

"And they are fine albums. I bought 'Cowgirls' myself, when it came out, with my own money." He caught the giggle on her face. "Seriously!"

"I believe you. Your secret is safe with me."

"But you're a fully rounded artist Rayna, There is so much more we can do with that voice of yours in a studio environment."

Turning on the charm Rayna leaned forward. "So I need a favour, a couple of weeks break to get a replacement guitar player and find some new material."

"That will not be a problem. I can work on what we already have. I'm afraid to say the label was not that enthused about the rough mixes. I'll tighten them up and sort new guitar tracks."

For the first time since she had arrived Rayna felt she had lost control. "Not sure when I'll have a new player. It's going to be hard to fill Deacon's boots."

He laughed. "Ah, but you are forgetting about my contacts." Chris tapped the black leather Filofax on the counter. "I'm sure you would not object to having somebody like, say, Mark Knopfler guesting on 3 tracks of your new record. I happen to know he is on vacation in the States right now." Despite herself even Rayna was impressed by the chutzpah. "Excellent, shall we talk in 2 week's time? I look forward to hearing what you can offer me." He snapped the sunglasses in place and Chris Noon, record producer was back in the room.

The man who opened the fourth floor hotel room door to Bucky's knock was dressed in a black shirt, dark pants and a bootlace tie. He also wore a black cowboy hat, that gave the strong impression of rarely being detached from its owner, outside or in. When he spoke it was with a Texan drawl. "Rayna Jaymes! To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Thank you for meeting with us Mr Friedman."

"Please, call me Kinky, as it were."

Instead Rayna completed the introductions. "I believe you already know my manager Bucky?"

"Hi Kinky how you doing? Whatty sends his regards. Says he still remembers that aftershow party in Amarillo"

"If Whatty White can remember an aftershow in Amarillo then he definitely wasn't there." Kinky Friedman, one time country singer, now comic crime writing novelist, moved aside to let them into the modest, impersonal room and perched himself on the bed. Rayna took the only chair, Bucky remained standing.

"How is that too darn talented guitar man of yours Rayna?" asked Kinky. She told him. He nodded sadly. "It happens." he said, almost too himself. "The road's a hard mistress and the studio can be a very vindictive wife. I'm not out where the busses don't run, because they both threw me over. Though I hope you aren't here to ask me to play on your record. These day that at baby only comes out at the end of book signings." He pointed to the battered guitar case in the corner of the room.

"It's not that," Rayna replied, "with Deacon out the picture I need some new material and the label has asked for… What did they call it Buck?"

"Up tempo, contemporary melody with accessible lyrics, that will attract AM/FM crossover radio-play and appeal to the B-D demograph of both genders." Bucky parroted.

"A novelty song." Kinky said, "All thanks to king Billy-Ray I guess."

"Well you have written some of those in the past." said Rayna, "The boys sing them on the tour bus, though I don't think my covering 'Biscuits' would go down well with anybody. So I was hoping you could help me out with some ideas."

"Oh I can do better than that." Kinky said smiling broadly, he took a piece of hotel note paper and wrote down a name and number. "Give this booger a call, say I put you onto him. Tony Lester, lives in Waco. Computer nerd by day, hot songwriter after hours, knows is way around both sorts of keyboards. Should appeal to your Noon-goon."

"Thank you so much."

As they made to leave Kinky handed them both signed copied of his latest book. "Rayna, please don't give up on Deacon. That man may have the face of a hound-dog, but he's got the old soul of a cat. And cats generally have nine lives and land on their feet."


	3. Chapter 3

Don't Break My Heart – 3

_A/N A conclusion to this story. The Freidman song mentioned below can be found through the search engine of your choice. Thanks for reading._

Deacon wasn't returning her calls, didn't answer the door when she tried to see him, whatever place he had taken himself into, Rayna was locked out. That scared her. Before, when the mood overtook him, no matter how irritating, unpredictable or angry he became, she could always find the glimmer of a path through. Their connection, sometimes so subtle in terms of looks, nudges and winks earthed each other, and the bedrock to that was the music. Only this time by taking a different fork in her musical road Rayna feared she was travelling away from the man she adored. On the morning of her flight to Waco she tried his house again. This time it opened.

"Hey?"

"Hey" The Deacon who stood in the entrance was clean shaven and freshly laundered. Rayna, who had feared the place might have been turned to matchwood could see his table, and on it half a glass of milk. He stepped aside to let her in. The room was more tidy than Rayna could remember it being. His Gretsch was laying exposed in its case and Gibson acoustic propped up by the coach. There were CDs by the hi-fi and a stack of paper on a low table.

"You look, er, busy."

"Yeah, I think I am." Both of them had an inflection of surprise in their voices. "I'm working on something new. Got a tour lined up in Mary Chapin Carpenter's Band, we start full rehearsal next week, so I'm getting familiar with the material."

"And you are gonna be…" she wanted to say OK or fully sober, but substituted "ready?"

"Gotta be." He knew what she meant, "Mary's not going to pour black coffee down my neck in a hotel room, or make the guitar tech do sound-check because she's told everyone 'I've got a migraine.'" He sat on a hard chair, "I won't screw this up Ray, because I can't afford to. After you drove me here, I spent all night out-staring that bottle of JD over there, and as you can see the seal is still on. That must mean something. I've not had a drink since."

"Well I'm glad you're working. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Just let me handle this in my own way. How's it with you and Noon?"

She told him about the breakfast meeting, the talk with Kinky, that made him chuckle, the impending trip to Waco and her hiring Richard Grant to play guitar."

"Hmm, I get that." he nodded, almost appreciatively of her choice, "competent, clean sound. Totally soulless in my opinion, Noon will adore him. Meantime I'm doing my penance, learning to play somebody else's solos _exactly_ like they appear on the records." She couldn't help but laugh. "So yes, there is one thing you can do for me darlin'" His hand was on her shoulder, strong, but brittle, rubbing with intention, but hesitant."

"Deacon!"

"Either I get my fingers around this G, A minor, E minor 7th pattern, or I get them around something much more fun."

"I've got a flight to catch."

He was nuzzling her neck now. "You get to airports way too early. Always have done, live the moment." He guided her to the bedroom and she let him do so.

The morning after making the last call for her flight, Rayna drove out in an anonymous hire care to the anonymous squat building where Kinky's buddy Tony Lester lived. There she explained her plight of needing to rustle up a hit single that would please Edgehill, Noon and her own sense of pride.

Tony was sympathetic "So you want something catchy that..."

"… wont hang round my neck like a millstone." Rayna finished for him. She had only been in this man's company for 10 minutes but already liked him. His easy attitude, the sly smile and pot of strong black coffee that looked to be a permanent fixture on the stove.

"OK, so we write a list song."

"Tell me more."

"Put together lists of words with as many corny rhymes as possible, set it to an upbeat chug and Robert will be your mother's brother. Think Dylan "Subterranean Homesick Blues", or "We Didn't Start The Fire" by Billy Joel. Shit! That was nominated for a Grammy. You Get?" He had already flicked on an electric piano and was doodling runs.

"I think so, just not sure where to start."

"What do you know about?"

"Singing, touring, trying to keep everyone around me from arguing."

"Touring, that's great" Pushing his glasses back up his nose Tony got up from the stool and went to a bookcase. He almost threw the heavy atlas into Rayna's lap. "Here's your road map. Quite literally, take out as many stupid names as you can find and just think of the rise in record sales when Mary-Lou from Dogsville hears her home town mentioned on your next single." Tony swore over chords, Rayna scribbled, struck through a re-rhymed and the coffee pot got lighter. Gradually like a granite sculpture the song begun to appear.

I set off North to Bowling Green with an old guitar and a fresh young dream

The sky was blue and the songs were strong, Louisville, Hamilton.

But at every truck stop I would find, you were the first thing on my mind.

I drove from Lima to Peru, just to get me closer to you

Smiles on the faces of the fans we met, and I'll never forget Lafayette

But when the curtain fell and the busses rolled, your name was still burned on my soul.

When you can't see the woods for the trees

When the road plays a game with your brain

I'm somewhere between Fort Wayne and Kankakee

Need to meet you in Champaign

'Cause babe I can't wait for St Louis.

Two hours later the song was done and the ashes of a Tex Mex lunch lay between them.

"I can't thank you enough" said Rayna, "But I have to ask one last favour."

"What's that? I never could say no to a lady, 'specially a red head."

"Promise me you'll come to Nashville and play piano on the session."

Rayna left him with a lighter heart and a small pile of CDs by Kinky Friedman with "the compliments of the boss." This may not have been the direction she expected when she signed the contract extension, but whatever didn't cut you down made you stronger.

When Tandy halted her sedan in front of solid, black painted iron, Teddy leaned an arm out of the passenger window, pressed a button on the gizmo in his hand and the gate quietly hummed, sliding aside. From the rear seat Rayna was silently impressed. A little way down the private road stood an empty 3 story muse house. The vehicle stopped again.

"This is it" Teddy said over his shoulder, "not on the open market yet, so if you like it as much I think you will, my contact can secure it for you with minimal hassle."

Rayna scrambled out of the uncomfortably cramped seat and stood on the kerbside trying to imagine herself living here. It wasn't hard, two bushes, that looked like they would need little attention flanked the door, an integral garage to its right. On the first floor a trim kitchen and well proportioned living area. Rayna gazed around, not overawed as she had been in the penthouse and not feeling like the guest she was at Tandy's. It was odd she thought, when singing she could own any stage, but sometimes in private she would shrink like a fading wallflower.

"I'm liking this," her sister enthused. Teddy started talking about the two top floor bedrooms, inbuilt storage and reasonable running costs but Rayna scarcely listened. She moved to the window and stared at an apple tree in the plot below her, that had obviously been there way before the property was ever built.

"Can I look upstairs?"

"Of course." said Teddy.

"I mean alone."

The eyes that looked back at her softened, "I know."

Rayna left Teddy to withstand the barrage of Tandy trying to negotiate a potential cash discount and headed to the peace of the top floor. In the larger of the bedrooms she opened a window and could hear birdsong. She sat on a chair someone had left in the room, the only piece of furniture she had seen so far in the house and closed her eyes.

"Welcome home my darling." It was her mother's voice, spearing into her head, did the window's breeze carry the scent of flowers or Chanel perfume? Rayna opened her eyes almost expecting to see the woman standing there, Jackie Kennedy dress and iron hairstyle, but of course there was no one.

A soft knock at the door and Tandy entered. "What you thinking sis?"

"I don't know how to describe it. It's like a piece of my life has just fallen into place. I've been running away since I was 16, and now that's become my full time job. I need somewhere safe to run back to and I think this is it."

"Congratulations, see you can make a decision that is sensible in business terms when you try. This place is not too close to chez Claybourne either."

"But not that far." she replied hastily.

"Ladies?" Teddy had joined them

"We're all good here. Please ask your contact to talk to my manager, I think we can do a deal." Her heartbeat slowed gradually to normal.

"Great news, I'm so pleased."

"And what do I owe you Mr Conrad?" The Southern manners had been drilled into Rayna too deep.

"Well firstly I hope you'll call me Teddy. Other than that nothing! You signed up to Jackson Street, this is my way of saying thank you"

"You've found me the perfect house and I want to repay that."

"If you insist, how about dinner sometime?"

Rayna pivoted so neatly that her own sister hardly noticed the pause.

"Great, let's do it at Tandy's. I'll bring dessert. Blueberry pie and cream good for y'all?"

They dropped Teddy off in the CBD and Rayna climbed into the front passenger seat. Tandy was fit to burst.

"And when have you _ever _made Blueberry pie young lady?"

The emotional and fragile side of Rayna was back in its box and the sassy Country starlet had taken over. "Excuse me! Did I say anything about cooking? Did you hear the word 'make' cross my lips? No, it will be shop bought and heated in that fancy microwave of yours and nobody ain't gonna tell the difference." The soupy thick accent dissolved into a fit of giggles Tandy shared in.

"No babe I can't wait for St Louis." Sang Rayan and Tony Lester played his infectious riff one final time. Chris Noon was smiling, though his sparkling eyes were hidden from view.

"That's great everyone," he said, "Miss Jaymes I will make you a hit out of that I guarantee you."

The young PA by his side handed him a note. "Shall we break for lunch, start back in 90 minutes? I think we should finish off 'She's my friend?'" Under the desk the girl nudged him. "Actually let's make it two hours we've got a lot done today team." He was out of the chair and heading for the door before anyone on the studio floor had time to respond.

"Leeroy," Rayna called, "would you mind keeping the tapes rolling just a little bit longer, there is something I'd like to try out.

"Fine by me Mam."

Rayna turned to her keyboard player, "Tony, did you and the band work out that song I mentioned to you?"

"Oh Yes, and we are as sweet as with it. I knew giving you those CD's would trigger something."

"Shall we make ourselves a B side then?"

Tony Lester took them into a mellow, reflective electronic piano led take of the Kinky Friedman song 'When The Lord Closes The Door – He Opens A Little Window.' Rayna sang live with her band, one headphone clutched to her ear, the other vibrating softly on her neck, she didn't care about leakage or perfect balance, she only wanted to get into the gypsy rover spirit of the song. As the last note died nobody dared breath. "How did that sound?" she tentatively asked the control room.

"Miss Jaymes," cried Leeroy, "don't even think about trying a take 2."

When Noon returned Rayna requested a play black "Instant B side." She chortled.

Noon smirked lazily "Very Funny. So sincere, but so out of touch. The B side will be a semi-instrumental remix of the single, that's what the market research tells us."

Rayna's stance stiffened, "A word in private please."

She marched into the control room as the PA and engineer slunk out.

"Chris." She said calmly but with steel.

The man laughed "Oh God you really thought we could go with this didn't you? I'm sorry Rayna but the industry has moved on, what you've taped is a throwaway jam, kooky but nothing to do with the concept of this record."

Rayna ignored the speech. "What I was really wondering," she said, "was if that sweet girl out there knows you have a wife and three year old son back in LA? Or more to the point if your wife is aware of the time you are spending with a teenage intern?"

"What on earth are you talking about, don't you dare try and threaten me."

"Oh I'm not doing that Chris, if I were I would have accidently flicked the talk-back on by now. You see you may know what all those buttons and sliders do on the mixing desk, but you're a man and men are hardwired to be lazy and untidy. When I went to the bathroom in your apartment there was a cotton bud in the trash can. So I'm afraid I got a tiny but curious, looked in the cabinet. I just don't see you as a man who uses a Barbie pink tooth brush, especially when you have flashy silver and blue one."

Noon bristled in the chair. "You can't prove anything."

"I don't think I need to," Rayna pulled a sweet smile. "I think this makes us even over Deacon. You can have all the production credits but I get my B-side. As for the semi-instrumental remix," and she made semi rhyme with apple-pie, "That can go on the 12 inch, which I am sure a man of your talents can persuade Edgehill is vital to the campaign…"

A long distance phone call, New York to Nashville

"Hi Sweetie, how was your flight.?"

"Boring like any other. The movie was rubbish, so I read and dozed."

"I played the advance copy of the album you sent." Deacon said, "It's very…"

"… Yes isn't it." she replied, "Could have been a lot worse without Kinky's help."

"Yeah that B side, however did you get that passed Noon?"

"Used my feminine charms to woo him over. He actually likes that music, just doesn't believe it will sell squillions. Anyway I recorded it for my true fans, and you."

"Me?"

"Yeah, of course you, 'When the Lord Closes The Door, He Opens A Little Window. There'll always going to be another album and I'll always need a decent guitar player!"

"I can't wait to see you Ray, the Chapin Carpenter tour did me good."

"I know hun, but I've got promotion and theatre dates in the diary. I need to get to the studios for 'The Tonight Show' in two hours, don't forget to watch."

"I won't"

"Be good."

"I will," he lied.

Rayna looked deep into the camera lens and into the homes of millions of Americans, she sung 'The Tour Song' live raising her sculpted eyebrows at some of the more ridiculous rhymes she had thrown into the song herself. Behind her the solid and professional session band mimed to the solid and professional backing track they had laid down earlier.

In her Nashville apartment Tandy put aside her prep notes for the next day meeting with Lionel Hampton and watched the performance approvingly. Down the corridor Teddy kicked back in his chair, drank from his beer bottle and found his right leg was jogging in time to the beat. Over town a VCR blinked in the deserted sitting room of the Wyatt family homestead, the tape recording a performance that Lamar would label, date, file, and never view.

Between half unpacked suitcases and the detritus of single man living Deacon glowered at the television screen. Being unable to decide if he was proud or disappointed that Rayna had come out with music that would be enjoyed by so many, but without his input, Deacon looked for answers in the only way he knew. The whiskey bottle was opened before the song had ended and the network cut to the ads.


End file.
